On my walk late this afternoon, I explored the possibilities of the late-day sunlight — how it touched certain leaves and branches, lighting them up brilliantly against the background woods. These two images are my favorite from my explorations: studies in yellow and green….
A few minutes shy of sunset, I lay prone on the slope of the ditch at the end of Piney Woods Church Road, trying to capture a few wildflowers in the golden late-day light. On a whim, I placed my camera on the ground and aimed the lens up through the base of the grasses growing there. The result was this enchanting silhouette.
On a cold and soggy day, I walked the length of Piney Woods Church Road, I could see and feel the elemental presences of wind and rain joining me on my journey. Gusts of wind tugged on horsehair snagged on a barbed wire fence; raindrops feel on roadbed leaves, newly fallen in the morning wind.
On a raw, rainy, windy morning I set out down Piney Woods Church Road looking for new images, new windows into wonder. I battled the wind for most of my journey; I would frame a photograph of a flower or leaf, only to have it start to sway in a suddenly-renewed gust. Ultimately, my favorite three pictures from the journey (this one and two in a subsequent post) were successful because they were relatively unaffected by the wind. This wild strawberry (Fragaria virginiana) was blooming in a ditch near Rico Road, sheltered from the elements. I glimpsed it from above, as I was peering down into the ditch, and I was immediately drawn to take its picture. I cannot wait to search here for strawberries, later in the season. I can almost taste them on my tongue as I type these words.
For the first few days that Chinese wisteria is in bloom every year along Piney Woods Church, I find myself guiltily enjoying its decadent bluish-purple blooms with their almost intoxicatingly sweet scent. But as time goes on, and the wisteria keeps blooming and blooming, I notice that it is everywhere I look, draping the trees and shrubs in thick curtains. The blooms on each flower head seem to crowd each other out, vying for my attention, practically demanding that I notice their vigor and profusion. And if there are so many flowers, then what about all the seeds? Wisteria begins to take on a more sinister tone; there is a dark side to its abundant gaiety. And by the time the last flower petals finally fall in another week or so, I will be ready to see them go. About a month later, my humble native wisteria vine that I planted in the front yard will produce a scattering of blossoms, and my appreciation for the genus will be born again.
Not long after I set out for Piney Woods Church Road, the rains began. I was ill-equipped for a deluge, having left my camera bag at home (trusting too much in Doppler radar maps which showed precipitation still an hour away). I quickly focused my attention on certain shots — mostly particular wildflowers I noticed in bloom. Fortunately, the rainfall remained fairly gentle, though it didn’t prevent me from getting fairly soaked. Toward the end of my walk, my camera still functioning and my body rather drenched, I eased up a bit and began letting images find me. This is one of the products of that last part of my walk. Droplets cover a new sweetgum leaf that hangs like a curtain in front of the road I have just walked.
Field guides to edible wild plants leave the reader imagining that the supermarket might be largely unnecessary. Could it be possible, in fact, to meet one’s dietary needs through foraging in the backyard and in nearby wild areas? There are, in fact, many plants with edible, and even tasty, parts: fruits, nuts and seeds, stalks and leaves, and even roots and tubers. But there are a lot of obstacles to moving to a wild foods diet.
One obstacle that should be of concern right away is the matter of safe and legal access to such plants. Most parks and nature centers frown on anything more than an occasional snack on wild blackberries, particularly if an entire plant must be uprooted in the process. While roadsides can offer many tempting plants, one should avoid eating anything growing within a few dozen feet of a highway, as the plants may be contaminated by vehicle emissions or other substances carried in runoff.
Another obstacle is correct plant identification. This one also cannot be overstated, since some poisonous plants look very similar to edible ones, and the similarities can be even greater (along with the hazards) for those considering foraging for mushrooms as well. For this reason, at least one (and preferably several) reliable field guides to edible plants are strongly recommended. The author will review several options in a later article.
Another obstacle is seasonality. Most fruits have to be ripe in order to be eaten. Many greens, on the other hand, are best consumed early in the year, as they become more bitter once the plant has begun flowering. Finally, nuts and seeds tend to be available only in the autumn. Some of the best options for the novice forager are plants such as the common cattail (Typha latifolia) that have multiple edible plant parts that can be consumed over the course of a growing season.
The fourth, and perhaps ultimately most daunting, obstacle is food preparation. Greens from a garden usually require washing, chopping, and perhaps a light steaming. Wild greens, on the other hand, can take a lot more work, and usually for a much smaller yield. One of the author’s favorites to tell would-be foragers about is the stinging nettle (Urtica dioica), a fairly common plant in parts of the United States and Europe, though found in only two counties here in Georgia. The stinging nettle gets its name from the formic acid in hairs that cover the leaves. Touching those hairs causes a stinging sensation that can last for hours or even longer. Anyone crazy enough to try to eat one of the leaves would risk having their throat seize up, leading to death. But, if the formic acid is neutralized by cooking the leaves briefly, they can be eaten with impunity, and even delight.
An obvious place to begin foraging efforts is the backyard, providing it has not been treated recently with pesticides or herbicides (whose considerable harm to local flora and fauna as well as nearby streams and rivers could be the topic of many an essay). The author has already harvested a couple of wild foods from his year, but just conventional ones: muscadines (wild grapes) and blackberries. But he is a novice at foraging for local greens and roots.
A prominent bull thistle (Cirsium vulgare), a common roadside weed from Europe, seemed like a good place for this author to begin. It was accessible, easily identifiable, and its consumption (should the venture prove a success) would not be an ecological tragedy (though it should be noted that thistle flowers do make excellent nectar sources for butterflies, while goldfinches eat the seeds). Root vegetables should be harvested between late summer and early spring, so the roots were out. Since the thistles were already flowering, it was not the ideal time for eating the leaves either, but the author decided to persevere anyway. He also sampled a stalk of a flower that had not yet come into bloom, for the sake of variety.
That said, preparation was not a simple task. The leaf had many sharp thorns, all of which had to be peeled away. The result, after about four minutes of work, was a slender midrib perhaps three inches in length. It tasted fairly good, with a slightly salty edge and a crisp crunchiness, and with no bitterness at all. About fifty of them would make a substantial salad, provided one has the three hours or so necessary for the task. Peeling the flower stalk was much faster and easier, taking under a minute. It was slightly more substantial and a bit longer (perhaps four inches), with a crisp, lettuce-like flavor. Again, forty or fifty of them would suffice for a side dish to a meal; however, the two thistle plants in the immediate backyard had one young flower stalk apiece, which suggests that another 38 plants would have to be located.
Why, then, bother with foraging for wild edible greens at all? Partly there is the temptation, as a naturalist, to experience plants with all the senses, rather than merely viewing them and occasionally smelling a flower in bloom. There is also the fact that wild plants tend to have a much greater content of vitamins and minerals than their domesticated counterparts, and could be an advantageous addition to the diet. They are also organic, free of pesticides and herbicides. Then there is the fact that the wild plants are free (if one neglects the processing time, that is), which can be a further temptation in our present economic situation. But mostly, from this author’s point of view, it is tempting to search for new wild edibles because of the stories that can be told about the quest. After all, how many people can claim to have eaten a thistle?
This article was originally published on May 2nd, 2010.
On an early morning saunter down Piney Woods Church Road (rather unusual for me; I tend to frequent the sunset hours far more often), I paused to photograph the newly-opened leaves of a common persimmon (Diospyros virginiana). I am discovering that if a plant is classified as common, it is often overlooked and under-appreciated.
I arrived early to Piney Woods Church Road, perhaps an hour after sunrise, before delivering a presentation on the Piney Woods Church Road Project to a Sunday interfaith group at Serenbe community here in Chattahoochee Hills. Along the verge near the intersection with Hutcheson Ferry Road, I glimpsed an unfamiliar pale-yellow wildflower with four petals. The petals were somewhat folded up; I assumed at the time that they were just opening. In fact, after an hour of scouring the field guides and internet, the flower turned out to be a cutleaf evening primrose (Oenothera laciniata), an early-blooming member of its genus that is common to waste places throughout the eastern United States. As the name suggests, its flower close during the day, opening fully only in the dark of night. Had I arrived at the roadside later in the day, I would have likely overlooked the closed flower altogether. Although some might consider it merely a weed, for me it was a gift of those early morning hours.
Since I began this project over 100 days ago, I have photographed one subject far more than any other: a black metal mailbox with one side covered with lichens, located about halfway down Piney Woods Church Road. I am quite fond of lichens, and have even gone on several field excursions with a renowned lichenologist, Sean Q. Beeching. I have seen many lichens covering tree branches, growing on rock, and even living deep within some rocks. But I have never seen lichens covering a metal object before. It was enough of an oddity that it captured my attention early on in the year. Knowing it would make a worthy image, I would often stop to photograph it just in case none of my other images for the day worked out. Each time I would take maybe three or four photographs of the same mailbox, from different camera positions and orientations. Yet I always found something else to celebrate that day, and the lichens were always left behind. Today, it seems fitting to pause and appreciate them. I admire their tenacity for managing to get a toehold on this mailbox, and enduring in all sorts of weather. And I thank the mailbox owner for letting them be, rather than scraping them off and painting over the metal, or replacing the mailbox with a shiny new one. These lichens greet me everyday as I pass them, and I am grateful for their presence on my journey.
